


A Friend Like You

by lets_keep_walking



Category: Trolls (2016)
Genre: F/M, Team Broppy AU, guess who's been trying to break out of hiatus???, request for a frien on tumblr, this bitch, vampire poppy, werewolf branch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 15:21:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14023119
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lets_keep_walking/pseuds/lets_keep_walking
Summary: The first thing that hits him is the slight smell of petrichor, followed by the overwhelming scent of strawberry perfume.





	A Friend Like You

**Author's Note:**

> so, uh, yea, here we go
> 
> this was a request for artsy on tumblr, I'm so sorry it took to long, but here you, without further ado, enjoy!!

The first thing that hits him is the slight smell of petrichor, followed by the overwhelming scent of strawberry perfume.

"Hi!"

Brandon glances up from his worksheet, fully intent on giving his new partner the hairy eyeball with about as much subtlety as an American on the fourth of July when she dumps her backpack into the chair next to him and rifles through it, all with a little smile on her face, amidst the constant chatter of the classroom.

"It's nice to meet you," she says as she pulls out her notebook and yanks a bejeweled pen from behind her ear. "My name's—"

"That's, uh, that's nice, but could you like, move over? To the side, a little? Can't see what's on the board." A look of realization crosses her face before she scoots to the right, long enough to copy down what the teacher's written on the board. Mrs. Riverto had placed them all in pairs to read and analyze the first few parts of Julius Caesar—because the story of betrayal by friendship is best done with friends, apparently.

When Brandon's done jotting down the rest of the notes, the girl resumes rummaging through her pack, and then glares at it, scratches her head, and glances under the table.

"There it is!" she exclaims as she stoops to swipe something from the floor. At Branch's questioning look, she shows him an obnoxiously bright blue and turquoise scrunchie. "I've been looking for this since yesterday! I'm so glad I found it!"

"Congrats."

"Thanks! Sooo," she says as she clicks her pen repeatedly, sliding into the seat across from him, "have you watched Mean Girls?"

"Have I watched Mean Girls?"

"I mean, I'm asking you, so, yeah."

"No?" He brought out a fresh sheet of paper and started to write down his name. "Why would I?"

"Why would—pfft, why _wouldn't_ you watch it?" She slams her palms on her desk, staring at him with wide eyes and an even wider grin. "It's like the stereotypical, Sharpay-induced sequel to Highschool Musical everyone wanted but no one asked for!"

"And?"

"And it's like Caesar but instead of togas and sandals it's three inch long skirts and _scandals_."

"Isn't that every other highschool in America nowadays?"

She blinks and her expression changes as she leans onto the back rest of her seat and taps her finger against her bottom lip thoughtfully. "Good point."

"Either way, we need to read the first two parts of the play. Do you have your packet?"

"'Course I do," she spouts as she opens her notebook. Immediately, a cloud of glitter sparks up from between the pages, coating her evenly and spraying a few of onto Brandon himself, of course, right after he covers his face first. It gets to the point where the whole class stops talking and starts snickering, and even Mrs. Riverto hides a chuckle behind her hand as she witnesses the display.

Brandon groans and shakes the glitter from his notes, and the girl blows the glitter from her lips and shakes her head rapidly, making pink curls and glitter splay everywhere.

Including onto him.

"Sorry, sorry," she apologizes as the class bursts into boisterous laughter. "My friends do this thing where we prank each other on the Ides of March, and I guess this is how they decided to play it this year. So thoughtful of them to use the glitter, right?"

" _No_ ," Branch spits out, a tad too harshly. At her confused expression, he rolls his eyes. "We're in the middle of class and your friends decide prank you with little tiny sharp pieces of plastic? Aren't you worried about that stuff getting into your eyes?"

"No?" She shrugs helplessly. "I'm used to it."

"I can't imagine the kind of pranks you must've done last year if this is your definition of simple."

"Nah," she says as she turns her notebook upside down and shakes it. "Last year they tried to prank me by pouring water on my hand while I was sleeping, but it backfired an I accidentally punched one of them in the face."

"Riveting."

"Aren't they?" she asks dreamily, before picking up her pen and flipping to the assigned pages. "Now let's start, yeah? We've got like, forty-five minutes of class to kill, and I am in a _mood_ to see Julius get totally ripped."

They finally get to work then, and read through the first part of the play. Being observative, (and okay, maybe a _little_ absent-minded) he's the first to notice that her packet is littered with little notes in multi-colored gel pens.

Joy.

"Hashtag Brutus is gay as fuck, Antony for smash—what, what _is_ this?"

She shrugs. "The truth. If Antony was in smash I'd _hella_ main him, y'know?"

"And the first one?"

"A given. C'mon, dude, we all know Brutus's probably gay behind a wall of straight. You know what Mac says—we don't spill the tea when it comes to intolerance, honey. We throw the goddamn cup."

"You're unbelievable," he huffs.

"I aim to please."

They make it through the next few scenes, the silence often punctuated by her rambling ("I swear to God, if Cassius opens his mouth one more time, we're going to have some problems.") and pen clicking, but they manage to make it to the end of class with just more than what Mrs. Riverto asked for. That's good. It means He'll have more free time on Monday.

The bell rings and they're dismissed, and the girls stuffs her notebook into her bag and leaves it on her desk as he heads to the nearby closet for a broom. Just before he can leave the threshold of the door, she yanks on his arm, catching his annoyed glare with a smile.

"By the way, I never got your name!"

"It's Brandon."

"That's a nice name," she compliments. She then wrestles her hand into his own and shakes it. "I'm Poppy. It's nice to officially meet you."

"Likewise, he muttered gruffly, loud enough for her to here. She chuckles before letting him go, waving to him as he heads out the door. He doesn't wave back because she's skedaddling his way to lunch as quickly as possible, but he doesn't think she'll be fazed by it. It's high school. What does she expect, a happy ending?

* * *

The lunch room is loud and stuffy and especially uproarious—the same way it's been for the past two weeks. Prom is just around the corner, and with that comes the sale of tickets, continuous chatter, and the inevitable sound of promposals in the air.

Brandon grumbles as he pushes his fork against today's special, regretting that he'd forgotten to pack a lunch last night. Eventually he pushes it away, resolving to make it through the day hungry than eat something he's sure the school found rotting in the middle of a back alley during July.

He sighs quietly, running a hand through his hair and feeling for his ears, tucked tightly against the dark curls, and lays his head down on the table, yanking his hood over his head. Sometimes having a table all to yourself was nice. He could eat in some semblance of peace and just give anyone the stink eye if they got to close. Sometimes though, it was a little lonely.

Not that he'd ever admit it to himself.

He brought out of his thoughts when someone bumps into his table, and he looks up, his glare already set in place, when he meets a full head of pink hair. He rolls his eyes. Just what he needed, another checkup from Mrs. Pepto Bismol.

"Hey!" Poppy chirps, setting down her bag down and lunchbox onto the table. "Do you mind if I sit here?"

He makes a show of looking nonplussed. "What happened to your friends?"

She shrugs. "They were busy today. Some of them are on the Student Council so they're selling prom tickets, and others are helping decorate the ballroom. It's prom week, so wha'd'ya expect?"

He sighs "Whatever." She seems immune to his death glare, anyway.

She seems to take this as an answer, and sits down, popping open her shark lunch box before glancing at him.

Before he can put his head down and try to ignore the overwhelming scent of strawberry perfume, a Halloween decorated Rice Crispy treat slides into his view.

"Thought you might want it. The lunch special is terrible, anyway," Poppy replies, before tearing into her sandwich.

"It's not even Halloween yet."

"Tell that to the supermarket industry."

Brandon rolls his eyes and glances at the treat, and then hastily shoves it into his hoodie pocket, to which she gives a content smile at.

"Thanks," he mutters.

"Nu prublum," she replies around a mouthful of food. She takes a sip from her water bottle as a stranger makes their way towards her. Branch already has a sharp look prepared; he already has one guest, no way does he need two, before the stranger stops and makes their way towards Poppy, instead.

"Heya, Poppy," they say, and Poppy fist bumps them before wiping her mouth. "I take it everyone else is busy this afternoon?"

"Heya, Creek! Yeah, everyone else is gone, but I managed to find a seat with my new friend here!" She points to Brandon and grins. "I met him last period."

"A new friend you say?" Creek, apparently, asks and turns to him. He must have the same hair issues as Poppy, because it looks like he failed at trying to Bob Ross his way into a decent hairdo. "Well it's nice to meet you. What's your name?"

"Brandon," he mumbles.

"What was that?" Creek repeats, bending down to hear him better. "Branch?"

"No, it's Brandon," Poppy replies before chuckling. "Although Branch would make a fitting nickname for him, don't you think?"

Brandon growls to himself before yanking his backpack on and storming out of the cafeteria, ignoring their combined protests as he did so. He was tired, it's a Friday, and he wants to get school over with so maybe he could go home. Poppy was nice, yeah, _sure_ , but it was just—what she was basically asking him for was just—too much. She pretty much invited him to her friend group just because of a stupid project of a stupid war hero with stupid friends who didn't know how to control their stupid lives.

There are three fundamental truths he's come to realize has he grew up. One, no one cares unless you have something they want, two people are exhausting, and three, living to the fullest of what society has to offer you is something that can be skipped if you just try hard enough. People can be driven away, friends can be dismissed, and life can go on, just if you really let it. All it takes is someone who's more than willing.

Heavily sighing and wiping the sweat from his forehead, Branch— _Brandon_ , sorry, makes his way to his next class.

* * *

Once his last class is over, he heads out of school, deciding to walk home through the woods. There's a higher chance of him getting in an accident on the buses, anyway, and the woods were usually inhabited by other students or little kids with tree houses. He'll be fine.

Though the woods are unusually empty today. He doesn't think too much of it, after all, it's prom week and he's walked through these woods more times than he can count, but something about today just feels off.

He feels a shiver crawling up his back, and whirls around, gripping his bottle of pepper spray in his pocket preemptively, but no one was there. Just him, and the smell of the earth after a good rain. It reminds him of Poppy, and he scoffs and shakes his head as he continues to walk, just at a quicker pace.

As he walks, he recounts what he should do when he gets home. Thankfully he doesn't really have anything to do over the weekend that's school related, so maybe he'd just relax and hang out with his grandmother, or play some video games or read a book. There's no rush. He has two whole days to himself and he plans to enjoy it.

But still...he can't help but feel unnerved. He needs to get home, and soon.

He stops walking and removes his prosthetic, carefully placing it inside his pack and securing it back on before shifting, filing out his hoodie and shorts and shaking his legs before breaking into a run.

It doesn't really take long. In this form he's able to run faster, though he does stumbling thanks to the fact that he's never looked into dog prosthetics, and it feels a little better to exert his frustrations from the day away.

Just as he starts to recognize the worn path that leads into his backyard, he hears them—several people, and they all sound older than your average high schooler, chatting amiably. He freezes in place, and hopes to the upper forces above that they don't see them and that they're not hunters, when he hears one of them gasp audibly.

"Would ya look at _that_!"

"What the hell?"

"It's a wolf wearing a backpack."

"And I 'ere I thought I saw everything in America."

He flinches when he thinks he sees one of them with a rifle, and bolts. They protest and start to follow him, and he hears the sound of bullets racing past him.

Damn the gods, they're hunters.

"Don't lose 'im! C'mon!"

Brandon's fast, but he only has three legs. They're a pack of people, and one of them (maybe more) have a dangerous weapon on them. If he doesn't hide, or find enough time change back, he could get hurt, or even killed.

He feels a bullet nearly graze his good leg and jerks to the left, making his assailants take a sharp turn to follow him. He's really out of options. Either he keeps running long enough for them to get tired, enough for him to change back, or—

" _Hey_!"

—or someone decides to play vigilante. The voice is painfully familiar, and he whirls around to see Poppy with her hair free from her ponytail and her skin as white as snow, hissing like a snake in a protective stance in front of him, reeking of petrichor and strawberries.

"What in the _hell_?" one of them yells as Poppy spits something out of her mouth--probably her retainer, and then the blood drains out of their faces when she turns back to them.

"What're you standing there for?" she hisses over her shoulder, her voice rough and otherworldly. " _Run_!"

So he does. He has no idea how Poppy how found him or that she's a vamp, but he doesn't focus on the details until he's far enough away to shift back and snap his prosthetic back on.

There's screaming, a few shouts, and he hears Poppy jogging back to his side, placing her hands on her knees as she huffs.

"Damn...damn it," she mutters to herself as she catches her breath. "'M gonna need a new retainer now, huh?"

"How-how the _hell_ did you—"

"How did I find you?" Poppy asks as she straightens out her shirt and pulls her hair into a ponytail. "Or, how did I know what you are? It wasn't really that hard. Especially since you're terrible at masking. I could smell you from a mile away."

"I-I...what...?" Brandon hops up from his seat on the ground, keeping his eyes on Poppy, watching as the life slowly floods back into her face, an image far from how she was only a few minutes ago. "That...that doesn't explain how you were able to find me, or why you're here, or—"

"Oh, that?" Poppy inquired as she stretched. From where he was standing he could see the elongated point of her fangs. No wonder she needed a retainer to hide them. "I maybe sorta...followed you? I mean, hold on, wait, wait," she says hurriedly as Brandon recoils. "I wanted to apologize for earlier, so I followed you, y'know? That and I wanted to warn you; the woods get really shady after school hours. You probably don't know it yet, but it _is_ hunting season."

"That...explains a lot," Brandon begrudgingly admits. "But that still doesn't make you following me around like that okay."

"I know...and I...wanted to apologize, so, uhm. Here I am. Apologizing. Right. I'm, ah, really sorry for pushing you during lunch." She yanks something out of her pocket, something that looks folded up and wrinkled, but she unfolds it quickly and presents it to him. It's the word 'Sorry' but in felt, decorated with glitter and with little lunch table cutouts on either side. "And I'm sorry for following you."

It's big and bold and unabashedly colorful; it looks like it took her a hell of a time to make, not to mention where she was able to find that time between lunch and their last two periods, but he takes it anyway and folds it back up to the best of his ability, sticking it in his pocket to contemplate later.

Just—just because he wants her to stop talking. Right.

"It's just...you seemed like a hoot to talk to during English, and on top of all that, you made me laugh, so...yeah. I'm sorry about that." She fidgets for a moment, fiddling with her hands before looking up at him hopefully. "Are we good?"

It takes him more than enough time before he answers. "I guess."

She seems to take that as a yes, and a grateful smile spreads across her face as she sighs in relief.

"Here." Poppy picks up his backpack and hands it to him. "I suppose I'll see you at school next week?"

He glances as her as he shrugs his backpack on. Poppy is, for lack of a better word, _new_. You'd glance at her and see several shades of different look back at you, unapologetically, and so warmly, like you're the focus of attention, like you're the new kid, like you're the one who makes all the difference.

And, as quickly as it comes—he thinks he likes it.

"Maybe," he replies, quietly.

"Huh?"

"I said maybe...I'll see you next week."

Poppy gives him a smile. "I'll hold you to that. Catch!" Before he knows it, something hits his forehead lightly and lands into his hand.

It's another Rice Crispy, but this time in the shape of a skull, with the words, 'It's time' written in chocolate frosting on the top of his head.

"Oh my god, it's still March, you animal."

Poppy laughs before giving him a wave and dashing out of the forest. Branch turns on his heel and follows the path home. He greets his grandmother once he arrives and heads up to his room, placing his backpack down before unwrapping the little treat. Once he does, a slip of paper flutters to the floor.

He picks it up, scans it, and then rolls his eyes, letting it fall to the floor once more.

Yeah.

_Hot take: the act of stabbing Caesar is inherently spooky so it is indeed halloween this month_

He's definitely going to see her next week.


End file.
